


Hellraiser

by mypedia



Series: penny for your thoughts [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: OT4 if you choose, Other, can be read as platonic or romantic, steve and bucky are trolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypedia/pseuds/mypedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After much cajoling, Sam convinces Natasha to join them on their morning runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hellraiser

**Author's Note:**

> By request, Romanogers (team america ot4 if you choose- I do) fic based off of [this](http://www.captain-croptop.tumblr.com/post/126198204833/team-america-headcanons) headcanons post. 
> 
> (Already posted as part of a multi-chapter tumblr fic series, but I'm deleting that.)

“On your left!” Steve calls. Sam and Natasha both obligingly move a little to their right to give him room, neither even close to out-of-breath yet. After weeks of cajoling, Sam had managed to convince her to come along with him, Steve and Bucky on their morning runs.

“Where’s Bucky?” Natasha asks, just as the thump-thump-thump of shoes hitting concrete becomes audible right behind them.

“On your right!”

Sam elbows Natasha over to make space for Bucky- even though they’d been running on the right side of the path and he could easily have passed them on their left.

Barely thirty seconds after Bucky’s gone, Steve’s back, with an accompanying “On your left!”. Natasha, matching her pace to Sam’s, waves after him with a look of vague incredulity, even though he’s long gone.

Dark hair shoots past. “On your right!”

Natasha exchanges a look with Sam, drops of sweat beginning to form on her temples. “Do they always… ?”

Feet pounding the pavement, he nods. “You get used to it.” Wiping his brow, he grins at her. “Is that the best you can do? I thought you were supposed to be good.” It’s easy bait, and he knows it, but she laughs and complies with a sudden burst of speed, leaving him a good few metres behind her. “Hey! I wasn’t ready!”

Before Sam can even catch up to her, Steve’s lapped them again, except this time he slows to a pace that, on him, looks like he’s barely even jogging. In reality, he’s keeping pace with Natasha. “What’s up, Nat?” he asks, smiling cheerfully. “How’re you feeling? How’s your head?”

“My- what? Fine.”

They hear Bucky’s shout of “On your right!” to Sam before he’s matching tempo with Natasha and Steve, on Natasha’s right so she’s sandwiched between them. “Don’t make fun of her,” he says, reaching behind her to shove at Steve. “It’s always upsetting for the young’uns to be beaten by us elderly folk.” The last part is said in a high, quivering voice.

“Stop,” Natasha says in a monotone, face expressionless. “You’re too funny. My sides, they hurt. I can’t take anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve claps Sam on the back as the other man finally catches up, ignoring her, “I’m sure when you’re ninety, the two of you will be lapping people a third of your age, too.”

Before either Sam or Natasha can bite out a retort, Bucky challenges Steve to race the next lap and just like that, they’re off.

“I. Don’t. Like. This,” Natasha snarls a word with every slap of her running shoes on the ground.

Sam glances at her out of the corner of his eye, his breathing heavier now. “You get used to it.”

They come around again. “On your right!” Bucky manages to shout, before narrowly avoiding slamming right into Sam.

“Fuck you,” Natasha growls back.

Steve’s “On your left!” comes a moment later, Bucky having beaten him by a hair’s breadth.

“And you,” Sam says. There’s no reason for the warnings, since they don’t actually pass anyone and just slow to a jog, smiling brightly at Natasha and Sam in a way that resembles bobble-heads with the shaking from their movements.

Natasha’s seething, even more so when Steve casually points out that they just completed a lap in the time that she and Sam haven’t even run half. “Jeez, kids… I know you’re taking it slow, but try to get reach the end sometime before lunch? Or,” he adds, after a moment of exaggerated pause, “maybe dinner. It’s okay; we’re here for you no matter what.”

“Yeah, kiddos, you can do it!” Bucky chimes in, fist pumping the air gleefully as he runs small circles around the group. “We believe in you!” Sam tries to trip him up, but Bucky jumps nimbly over his outstretched foot; his hand catches Steve by mistake, and the soldier chases after him, leaving Natasha and Sam gritting their teeth and steadfastly refusing to either speed up or slow down.

“Idiots.” Sam shakes his head.

“Shitheads,” Natasha corrects.

When Steve comes back around again- with another “On your left!” even as he slows to match pace- he drops the pretense. “So tell us… how’s it feel to have your time absolutely pulverized by two senior citizens?” He loops one arm around Natasha, who ducks out from underneath.

“Go away.”

“Okay, you can think about it.” He gives a thumbs up. “I have faith in you. C’mon, Wilson! Pick it up.”

Sam notices the glint in Natasha’s eye, but chooses not to say anything.

When the call of “On your right!” predictably breaks through the rhythm of their steps, she curls her fingers into a fist, draws her elbow in- and, just as Bucky is sprinting past, her fist shoots out and decks him squarely in the ribs, left side.

Bucky doubles over, the momentum of his run and her unexpected fist sending him off-balance and sprawling diagonally. Steve’s a little behind him, but not far enough to stop himself, and Natasha’s punch hits his right side with a satisfying thump. Unlike Bucky, he doesn’t go down, but he stumbles and makes a face, rubbing his torso.

“Yeah!” Sam cheers, stopping to gloat, giving Natasha a high-five. “They deserved that.” He turns to them. “You deserved that.”

“Hellraiser.” Bucky’s tone is more affectionate than anything. “Hurting my boy.”

“Why can’t you be nonviolent like Sam?” Steve complains. “He hasn’t hit us in two months, and you broke in twenty minutes.”

“To be fair,” says Sam, “you turned it up quite a few notches today.”

Natasha smiles sweetly. “Are we done with running? I could use some lunch.”

+++++

They’re in the TV room after dinner, watching some shitty 90s film about spies- Sam’s choice- that Bucky is surprisingly into, when Natasha notices the popcorn’s finished. She grabs the bowl and heads into the kitchen; Steve follows her.

“No, don’t.” She knows he’s there, of course, and blocks something on the counter with her body. “Stay in there.”

“Is that cake?” Steve demands, eyes lighting up. “You bought cake?”

“I made cake,” Natasha corrects, moving out of the way now that he’s seen anyways. “Earlier today.”

“Is that an apology cake?” Steve grins widely, delighted. “Buck! Natasha made us a cake to say sorry!” She presents it to him with a flourish, and pinpoints the second he reads the icing; his eyebrows scrunch up, and then he looks torn between laughing and scowling. “‘Sorry, I hope I didn’t knock your dentures out’? Seriously?” He puts it back down on the counter, then wraps his arms around her from behind, drawing her back against his chest. “Still. I appreciate the effort.”

“You better,” says Natasha, as he tips his head forward to drop a kiss on the spot where her neck meets her shoulder. “Do you know where the paper plates are?”

“On your right!” Bucky calls, overhearing.

Natasha shrugs Steve off and opens the drawer to her right, realizing a moment too late. She whips around, eyes narrowed in the general direction of Bucky.

“That’s not true.” Steve nods at the drawer. “They’re on your left.”

The fridge is on her left. She takes three quick steps and vaults at Steve; unprepared, his reflexes are fast enough to catch her, but not to block the twist and kick that come next.

Natasha easily flattens him on the kitchen floor- then, moving slowly and deliberately, straddles him. She leans in close so her scarlet hair hangs inches above his face. “On your top,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, taking requests [ here.](http://www.captain-croptop.tumblr.com) Comment if you liked it! :)


End file.
